My Name
by DerangedLychan
Summary: Germany is a man of a powerful composure, but under pressure, everybody cracks and needs someone to comfort them when it becomes unbearable.  For Germany, that person was Italy. Oneshot.


**My Name**

**Warning:** There will be sex, but it isn't particularly graphic, mind you. Mentions of Nazism and the holocaust are also lurking about in here.

**Disclaimer:** None of the mentioned characters belong to me.

oo00oo

Germany was a strong country, body and mind. He was a country of order and control. He thrived under pressure and sought to use anything and everything to his advantage. He was a country of power and efficiency. He followed his boss' orders with a swift capability and didn't allow himself time to ponder the things he was doing, always he kept himself busy. If he did allow himself to think of the things he was doing, the crimes he was committing under orders, he would break. He would simply shatter under the pressure.

By doing this, he'd become a symbol of terror, brutality, of death. He'd lost his identity in the dark miasma of war as so many had done before him. He would hide behind the brutal label thrust upon him, even as he damned it's creation to hell. He let himself grow bland and uncaring, even as he commit horrid atrocities. He lost his humanity in order to preserve it.

The other countries, and even himself, had forgotten that he was not just a symbol, he was not just a Nazi, and beyond being a country; he was just a man. A strong, but broken man. As a man, there was only so much he could take. The humanity and sympathy of other countries had fled him. All save one. One small, seemingly useless male with a bright smile and a cheery laugh. He clung to that bright spot of humanity with the desperation of a dying man, relinquishing his stern demeanor to gentle touches and soft words. He let himself become for the other what he truly was behind all of the propaganda: A man.

On one such occasion, when Italy's gentle touches and words had taken longer than normal to draw Germany from his bloody shell, when the tanned male was, in consequence, writhing below him in pleasure and emitting small gasps and mewls as he was thrust into, when the stronger plead for a lifetime's worth of of forgiveness, for salvation, with three words.

"Say my name." He murmured, voice wavering on the edge of breaking. Italy looked up at him through the lust and pleasure that clouded his bright eyes in confusion for a moment before complying.

"...Germa-"

"No!" The Aryan smashed his lips down onto the smaller male's with more force than he cared for, effectively silencing him. Italy gave a muffled squeak of surprise. "No..." he repeated, much more gently after releasing his lips. "Say my _name_, Feliciano." He pleaded softly.

Feliciano looked up at him, eyes clearing. The German's face was contorted with desperation, blue hues searching the other's as though looking for the answer that would solve the hatred turned towards him by the world. Italy's heart broke as he met that gaze, as he stare into the insecurities and fears of a man so powerful an composed, and tears filled his own eyes. Releasing the sheets that he held at either side of his own head, he wrapped his arms around the nation's neck pulling himself as close as possible and clutching him as though he could hold the nation together himself.

"Ludwig..." He gasped. "L-Ludwig... Ludwig..." His name spilled from his lips in a mantra, and that was all that was said between then until their synchronized movements fell out of rhythm and became frantic, when they both tumbled over the edge and fell upwards into a soft ecstasy and lay panting in each other's arms. Only after disentangling and laying beside each other, listening to their breathing slow and become soft, did Feliciano speak once more.

"Ludwig?" He rolled himself onto his stomach atop the other male, propping himself on his elbows with delicate hands splayed over a strong, scarred chest.

"Mm? What is it, Feliciano?" Blue eyes opened to the Italian.

"Ich liebe dich." The words were spoken in clumsy, thickly-accented German; an aggressive language spoken by a mouth accustomed to speaking a musical, romantic one. Germany smiled gently, reaching up to stroke his hair.

"Ich liebe dich auch, Feliciano." He responded. The tan male smiled sleepily and lay his head on the other's chest, remaining atop him.

It didn't take long for both to drop off into a peaceful, dreamless slumber, unheeding of what tomorrow may bring.

oo00oo

This is the product of my morbid imagination. I figure that being labeled like that and viewed as nothing but an animal would put a strain on poor Ludwig. Not all Germans were Nazis, and not all Nazis took pride in their work, they just had to go along to get along.

Review would be greatly appreciated.

-DL


End file.
